


Pieces of Time

by Litsetaure



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Death, Durin Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Protective Siblings, Sibling Love, Survivor Guilt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Litsetaure/pseuds/Litsetaure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It may have seemed like it sometimes, but Thorin was never truly alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces of Time

**Author's Note:**

> So, I told myself I'd never write Tolkien fanfic, because I was sure I'd never do it right. But this idea bit me. HARD. And would not let go.

Thorin stood alone, surveying the scene before him. The devastation his eyes took in was almost inconceivable to behold; their dead comrades lay, cut down by swarms of orcs and, even now, surrounded by the enemy who had defiled their sacred lands. It made Thorin sick to see, even as he passed them by, just how many of their once proud race now lay with their mighty weapons and mail stained with the vile blood of such a foe. But what set a flame of rage deep in his breast was the knowledge that there would be no way that they could bury their brave warriors in the manner that they would have deserved. Instead, they would be consigned to the fire, left to burn as though they were little more than heathens of old. Only knowing that the alternative was even worse – to leave them behind for the food of birds or carrion-orcs – made the option even slightly less abhorrent.

Eventually, and with tears threatening to burst from his eyes, Thorin found himself approaching the survivors of their battle. Among them were Balin and Dwalin, two of his most trusted friends. He felt a great relief at seeing them alive, but found that when they turned to look at him, no words would pass his lips. Instead, all he could do was lower his head when he saw how few were left alive.

The battle may have been won, but the price of such a victory was higher than he could have believed.

A hand on his arm eventually made him turn around and look into Balin's kindly face. Letting out a long breath, he finally asked, “What news?”

Balin replied, “Your father is still trying to see if there are other survivors. He is searching the wood by Mirrormere.”

“Alone?” Balin nodded. Thorin sighed. “The wood is too large for one dwarf to search,” he said. “It pains me to say it, but I believe that my father's judgement has been clouded since –” he stopped, clenching his teeth at the only too recent memory of Azog holding his grandfather Thror's head aloft, his wicked eyes lit with malicious triump and his mouth open, showing his darkened teeth as he let out a deafening roar...

“Thorin!”

This time, it was Dwalin who distracted him from his dark thoughts, the other dwarf watching him with narrowed eyes. Thorin straightened up and nodded briefly. “Come, both of you,” he said, striding towards the wood without looking back; he could tell Balin and Dwalin were following him from the sounds of their footsteps.

At the edge of the wood, Thorin had to stop and take some time to compose himself before he entered. He had known that many of his kin, and also his friends, had been driven into these woods, but now he could not see much hope that any of them could have survived. Guilt pricked inside him; the attempt to retake Moria would have been dangerous, every dwarf with them should have known that. But even so, to see them tossed over the ground, scattered like rabble, leaderless – it was almost too much to bear.

Thrain then came towards them. He did not even spare a glance towards Thorin, but instead directed his attentions to the sons of Fundin. Thorin did not hear the words, so quietly was his father speaking, but when he saw Balin close his eyes and lean against his brother who gently touched their foreheads together, he understood. Then, Thrain did look up and Thorin could see the same grief reflected in his expression that he himself was feeling. Fundin had been a much loved and trusted fighter as well as a loyal friend. His loss struck a blow into the heart of their race, in particular his family who were left behind.

Wishing he could support his kinsmen, but knowing that his intrusion would be unwelcome at this moment, Thorin forced himself to leave them and continue the hunt for anyone who still might be alive. He searched for many hours, until the sun was low in the sky, but could find no one who had survived. Indeed, he had almost decided to call off the search when he felt something knock against his foot. He bent down slowly to look at it and saw that it was a dwarven bow. The wood was worn and battered and it had clearly been lying abandoned for some time, but Thorin would have recognised the weapon anywhere, and to see it now sent a fresh spike of fear through him.

“Frerin...”

Looking up, he realised then that he had wandered further away from the site of the slaughter. There were fewer corpses here and the ground was not as bloodstained as before when you could hardly tell what colour the grass was supposed to be. Making haste now, for there were few remaining hours of daylight, Thorin began to carefully, but thoroughly, examine each of the fallen dwarves, his heart sinking each time he did not find his brother.

“Frerin!” he screamed, falling backwards and running his hands through his matted hair, despair and terror now threatening to overwhelm him completely.

He may have allowed it to happen as well, had he not turned his head at the right moment to be distracted by a sound coming from beneath a cluster of trees behind which the sun was slowly setting. Looking closer, he could see a dark shape lying on the grass, apparently attempting to move. Thorin leapt up, forcing himself to cast away his dark mood, and hurried over. Even though the sight was unclear, he knew somehow who would be there. With a growled curse, he tore away the corpses of the orcs and dropped to his knees, his gaze drawn towards the all too familiar pair of eyes.

“Frerin,” he whispered. “Brother...Frerin, can you hear me?”

“Thorin.” Frerin's voice was weak, but he managed a brave smile. “How...how did you find me?”

“This.” With a trembling hand, Thorin held out the bow to the younger dwarf. “I was looking for survivors and came across it. You must have dropped it a way back.”

He tried to retun it to his brother, but Frerin turned his hand away. “I have no need for it brother,” he said. “Not any more.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” cried Thorin. But when he looked down, he saw that the hand he had placed over Frerin's chest was now covered in blood. To his horror, he could also see the dark blade that had pierced straight through to his stomach. “Frerin...” he almost pleaded, “let me get you out of here – someone can help you...”

“No, Thorin.” Frerin's eyes glazed over slightly, but his words were still remarkably clear. “It is too late now. I should already be dead, we both know it.” He smiled sadly. “I think I only managed to hold on so I could say a last farewell.”

Thorin closed his eyes against the tears threatening to fall at his brother's gentle words. When he had recovered enough, he said, “Forgive me, brother. I should have protected you and I failed. I failed you, and –”

“Never.” Frerin caught Thorin's hand and gripped it, though his strength was fading fast. “You did not fail me and you will not fail our people. You helped us to build a new life when Erebor was lost,and that life will continue to flourish under your leadership.”

A harsh cough suddenly ripped through him, causing his body to shake. When it passed, his eyes stared straight into his brother's. “And one day, Thorin, you will return to Erebor and you will rule long and well, a king amongst kings.” Once again, he smiled and then, for the first time, a tear slipped from his eye. “I wish that I could have been at your side, but I swear to you, you will never be alone.”

His eyes began to drop closed even as his grip on Thorin's hand loosened. “You may not always find me, but I will always...be with you.”

Thorin bit his lip. “Frerin,” he began, but his brother's eyes were now fully closed and he lay still, his hand now limp in Thorin's grasp. “Oh, brother,” he whispered and laid his forehead against Frerin's chest. “I will not let you down.”

He stayed where he was, eyes closed with grief, until the last light had left the sky and darkness filled the wood. Then, despite feeling weighed down by sorrow, he pulled himself upright and gathered Frerin's body in his arms, holding him as carefully as he could, and made his way back to where the others were now waiting.

Balin was the first to see him and recognise his burden. “Thorin...”

“We must gather our dead,” Thorin interrupted him. “If it were possible, I would wish them to be buried with full honours, as they deserve. But there is...” he had been about to say that there was no time for that, when he caught sight of Frerin's face. His eyes were closed and, somehow, he almost seemed to be smiling.

Thorin gasped; he had heard how it seemed that many found peace in their deaths, but until now he did not think he had witnessed it firsthand. While he was glad to see the pain of his injuries had left his brother – it had been so wrong to see Frerin, who had always been full of life, lying under the trees in such agony – to see him so still and silent gave Thorin an ache so deep, it took away any thought of what he might have been wishing to say.

“Come.” His father's voice cracked through the air and Thorin realised Thrain had been watching them, his expression filled with both grief and anger. “Or would you prefer for our friends and family who died to bring us this victory to be left behind as though they were nothing more than easy prey!”

~*~

The flames leapt high into the black sky, lighting up the trees around them and casting a bright glow over the lake. An almost majestic sight seen from a distance, it was true, but no one who was there would have, or even could have, taken any pleasure from it. Victory may have been claimed on this day, but there was no joy, no song to be heard. Instead a deep silence fell, broken only by the wind blowing through the trees, or the hissing of the flames. Even the birds seemed to realise what had come to pass here and flew by without song or sound.

Thorin finally turned away, unable to watch any longer. Frerin's bow was still clutched in his hand, Dwalin having gone back and retrieved it. At first, Thorin had not been sure he wanted to keep it. Looking at the weapon now made his heart hurt and knowing every day that it was still there, he thought, would just be too painful a reminder of what had been lost.

But Dwalin had insisted. “It will remind you,” he had said, “of the brother who loved you while he lived and loves you still, even now that he has gone.”

Of course, after that, and after seeing Balin holding the arm braces that had belonged to Fundin in his hands, Thorin knew that he could hardly refuse.

Thrain came to him then, but he said nothing, only looked at him. He trembled badly and almost fell, and Thorin reached out to try and steady him. But Thrain turned him away in one harsh movement and limped away, leaving Thorin feeling even more alone than he had before. With a sigh, he forced himself to turn back and found that, once again, Balin was watching him. Thorin sighed and placed one hand on his friend's shoulder, silently asking the question that he could not bear to give voice to.

Balin nodded. “We are with you,” he said. “Whatever you decide.”

~*~

“Are you sure you want to do this alone?” Dwalin asked as they came to the door.

“I am,” Thorin answered. “I am her brother and, as such, it should be me who breaks this news to her.”

Dwalin sighed, but just before Thorin opened the door, he said, “I hope you know that my brother spoke the truth in what he said to you. We are with you, Thorin, son of Thrain.” He motioned to the dwarves who had accompanied them and were now waiting. “All of us.”

Thorin nodded. “I know,” he said and bent his head a little, wishing he could find a more adequate way to express his gratitude at their loyalty to him, especially since he had been finding it difficult to believe that he deserved it any more than they did. He may have been the king's heir, but at that moment, he doubted that this was a matter to be proud of.

“Dis?” he called out to his sister as he finally managed to find the courage to open the door and step inside.

“Thorin.” Dis strode out, her eyes large with concern. “It does me good to see that you are safe, brother.”

“I am, sister,” said Thorin heavily. “But alas, the king, our grandfather, is dead. He was,” he paused and drew his hand over his face, “he was beheaded.”

Dis nodded and sighed. “This is indeed grievous news,” she said. “I had heard similar rumours spread, but I hoped that...” she shook her head and stood in silence for a moment, gazing out of the window. “And, tell me...what of our father?”

“He lives still,” answered Thorin. “But he is not the same, sister. His mind has been...ravaged by grief since his father's death.” His own eyes closed in pain at the memory of his father. “But I fear that he may even have times where he wishes himself dead now,” he admitted.

“Why?” Dis' voice was alarmed. “Thorin, what more is there that you have not told me?”

“Many of our kin and our friends fell on that field,” Thorin replied, and though he opened his eyes, he found that he could no longer lift his head to look at his sister. His body began to tremble and sway as he held out the bow that he had carried on the arduous journey back to what remained of his family.

He heard Dis gasp and whisper as she recognised it. “No...Thorin...”

“He...he was...he had been...” but this time, Thorin's long-held control deserted him at last and the bow slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. He reached to catch it, but his body would no longer support him and he collapsed onto the floor, his grief overwhelming him like a dark cloak as he finally allowed himself to weep in earnest.

His sister would surely place the blame for Frerin's death on his head, of that he was certain. So she should as well, he knew – he should have taken the responsibility for ensuring his brother's safety, defended him with his life if it became necessary. He should have been the one who had lain dying in that wood in place of his brother...but instead, he was here and Frerin was...

Thorin could hardly stand to think about it, but he knew that he had to; it was his penance for allowing him to die as he had. Frerin had been wrong about him; he _had_ failed him, and failed his family.

“Thorin.” Dis spoke then, her voice sounding strangely near. Her hands framed his face and she lifted his head up, forcing him to look at her. Tear tracks stained her cheeks and her gaze was pained, but her actions could not have been more gentle as she knelt on the floor and gathered him into her arms. She held him close as though she was afraid that he might shatter into pieces and stroked his hair slowly, only the slight tremor in her fingers giving a hint to her feelings.

“You must not carry this guilt so, brother,” she said in the gentlest voice Thorin had heard her use in many years. “Frerin would not wish it upon you, you know this – and neither would I.”

Thorin shivered as he realised that he had been voicing his fears out loud. He tried to speak again, to argue his part in what had happened, but Dis immediately silenced him.

“You did not let our brother down, Thorin,” she insisted, still running her fingers through his hair and trying to soothe him. “Frerin may have been young, too young to die, but so are you. He knew the danger when he left, just as you did; he told you so himself. But even if he had not, you know that you could not have protected him for ever. Nobody could, however much they wish otherwise, and he would have resented you if you had tried. But you kept him as safe as anyone could, and did the same for me too, and you loved us as if you were our own father as well as our brother. Now,” she lifted a lock of hair from Thorin's forehead, “let me help you.”

“Help me?” Thorin finally managed to look up. “I...I don't understand...”

“Hush, brother.” Dis brushed the tears from Thorin's face. “You have been left aside for far too long, picking up the pieces of our life and trying to give us something to live for. But no more.”

She shook her head and, for a moment, Thorin caught a glimpse of what could have been; of a strong and proud, yet kind and compassionate, dwarven princess. “I may have only been a small child when Erebor was lost,” she said, “but I know some of what you have had to carry since, my brother. Now, I will share your burdens with you for as long as I am able to, and I will protect you and support you, just as you have done for our family. You will not have to be alone any longer, you have my word.”

Thorin dropped his head down, overwhelmed by the depth of love in his sister's words. Here, in this moment, he felt safer than he had felt since they had fled Erebor. But even then, he did not believe that anyone had made him feel the tenderness that he felt now, even though, after everything that had happened, he knew that he had done nothing to earn it.

“Brother,” Dis whispered now, “do not hide your feelings from me any longer. Let us grieve and take comfort together. It does not do to try and face this alone.”

The gentle words proved once again to be Thorin's undoing as he fell back against his sister and clutched her tightly, silent tears giving way to cries of anguish mingled with desperate gasps of his brother's name. It pained him deeply to feel this way, but it was a pain that, in itself, was almost cleansing, releasing what he had kept inside him for so long and tried so hard to hold back for fear of being thought of as weak.

Finally, when his weeping had calmed somewhat, Thorin looked past his sister and out of the window at the slowly rising sun, and silently made a vow to his brother.

_'Your memory will live on.'_

~*~

Another day and another battle, only this was one that Thorin knew he would not survive. He still tried to fight, but his wounds were so severe and his pain so great that he could hardly stand for very long, much less use his sword properly.

But somehow, he found himself glad of it. He was glad that he and the Company had succeeded in returning to Erebor, that he had seen his home again and had gained even a taste of what it meant to be King Under the Mountain. But he also felt filled with shame as he realised how he had become overwhelmed by his lust for gold, just like his grandfather before him, and how, in a blind rage, he had turned against the one person who had tried to help them. He groaned as he remembered his tirade against poor Bilbo as the halfling stood, trembling, before him...

A movement to his left caught his attention and, through bloodied vision, he saw Kili firing an arrow straight through the neck of a goblin, followed by another, and another. His youngest nephew's dark hair flowed behind him and his hands worked swiftly and expertly with the familiar bow.

Thorin felt a thrill of pride as he watched Kili fire arrow upon arrow, never once missing his target. He had not always been pleased about his nephew learning archery, not because a bow was an elvish weapon – Kili had been far from the first dwarf to have used it – but because the pain had been too strong for Thorin, the memory of his lost brother all too clear. He had never said as much to Kili, nor to Fili, but Dis had known, even without him saying anything, and she had borne his feelings with a patience and love that had shocked and touched Thorin deeply. Eventually, only a few years before he had left on this journey with her sons, she had even managed to persuade him to come and see her son hard at his work. He had, with her support and understanding, he had watched from a distance, astonished and proud at his nephew's ability. He had said nothing of his thoughts to anyone, but the next day, he had taken up Frerin's bow for the first time since his brother had died, and had given it to Kili, instructing him to use it well. He had said nothing more, but as he left his astonished nephew, he saw Dis smiling at him.

But beneath the pride for his family, the shame still nagged at him as he remembered the words his mortally wounded brother had spoken to him in a wood as the sun set.

“ _You will rule long and well, a king amongst kings.”_

A bitter laugh escaped Thorin and he sank down again. How wrong Frerin had been! How misplaced his trust in his older brother was,and how ashamed would he have been if he could have been here to see what had come to pass. Thorin was almost – but only almost – relieved that Frerin had died when he had, if only so he would be spared the disgust he knew would have been on his brother's usually smiling face.

“Forgive me, Frerin,” he whispered. “I have...I have been a fool and now our family pays the price. I have not been a fit king and...” he coughed, “and I have failed you. I have failed us all...”

He bent his head and fell back to the ground – just as an arrow flew past him, so close to where he had been only seconds before. He looked around, blinking, just in time to see Fili, his face grim and bruised, pulling his sword from the stomach of a collapsed warg. He nodded briskly and Thorin smiled at him in return, though it was not long before he noticed the arrow protruding from the beast's neck. He knew instantly that this was the shot that had come so close to him. But the sight made him smile again and, even as he looked over, he knew that he would see Kili, chain mail glinting in the fading daylight, fighting with all the strength he had.

But even so, the view made his chest ache, because, in a moment, he did not see his naïve and rash young nephew, but instead, there was his brother, watching over him and defending him until the end – just as he had promised he would. His dying words even; they had stayed with Thorin all his life.

“ _You may not always find me, but I will always be with you.”_

Even now, somehow, Frerin had found him and even now, he helped him.

Somehow, the thought gave Thorin a brief surge of strength and he managed to rouse himself just enough to slice his sword across the stomach of a goblin. The vile creature made a strangled noise and fell forwards. Thorin did not even need to look or listen to know that one of Kili's arrows would soon find its way to its target, ensuring a certain death for their enemy.

He was about to nod in gratitude to his nephew, but by now Kili had turned away, focused on killing something else. Instead, Thorin smiled as the darkness took him, his last thought being how Frerin had spoken the truth – he had never truly left him.

**Author's Note:**

> So...yeah, that was my first time writing Tolkien fic. :P I've gone more movie!canon than book!canon, I think, but the idea would not go out of my head.
> 
> I have no idea where the idea of Kili carrying Frerin's bow came from, but once it came to me, it stuck and I thought "Huh...actually, yeah." Plus, I wanted a reason for Thorin to be a bit against Kili practicing archery, but I didn't want to go down the "it's Elvish" route, because I'm pretty sure dwarves know how to use bows. So, yeah, this seemed to work. :P
> 
> And also, I love the thought of protective little sister!Dis holding her big brother. Because, let's face it, Thorin is going to have some pretty major PTSD after all that and I just wanted Dis to be there for him. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviews are horded and loved like Smaug hords and loves gold! :) Ash xxx


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